


Silently Spoken

by CaveDwellers



Series: Wordless [2]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse of Christmas Music, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Mistletoe, Selective Muteness, dance au, flagrant cheesiness, nonbinary!Ruby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveDwellers/pseuds/CaveDwellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some languages don't need words, and through snowball fights and community holiday events, Sapphire is starting to learn. (oneshot, part two of Wordless trilogy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silently Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel nobody asked for, but Imma do it anyway XD Actually, due to the events of this oneshot, this is now Part II of a trilogy. 
> 
> I meant for this to be a christmas oneshot. I started it in the middle of december, and I'm only finishing it this morning. Oops. 
> 
> A huge thank you to [Mintly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/pseuds/Mintly)  for giving this a quick beta at 2am, you are way too nice to me XD

It’s the first snow of the season—on Christmas Eve, how quintessential is that?—and Sapphire and Ruby are walking to the neighborhood dance studio together. In silence.

Ruby doesn’t talk a lot, Sapphire is coming to find. 

At first she think it’s because the only things they’ve done together are exchange a couple of quips, and that one deeply unorthodox dance fusion, but she and Ruby have been on a few dates now and Ruby’s not really… opening up the way she hoped. They aren’t talking to her. She and Ruby have gone out hiking, visited an amusement park, and once they went to a local swing-dancing night, and while all of that has been fun Sapphire doesn’t know anything _about_ Ruby. They don’t tell anecdotes from their childhood. They don’t talk about the places they’ve traveled to. They don’t confess anything about their future-oriented aspirations. They scarcely _say_ anything.

Like now, for example. Occasionally Ruby will tromp close enough for the sleeves of their thick winter coats to brush, but for the most part it’s just the two of them, the crunch of fresh snow under their boots, and the mechanical chugging of cars as they slush on by. There is no wind. The most charismatic birds have all gone south for the season, so there is no birdsong either. Just crunch, crunch, the _swoosh_ of a dark blue Toyota Camry rolling by, no conversation.

Maybe they’re just slow to trust?

Sapphire glances at the taller dancer. Ruby has forgone their usual snapback for a knitted, tomato red headband. Their otherwise-free curls bounce happily about their ears with each step, and Sapphire has to keep herself from getting lost in the enviable abundance of their eyelashes. The soft brown of their cheeks is a little flushed from the cold, and their mitten-clad hands are stuffed into the felt-lined pockets of their coat. Their wide shoulders don’t look stiff and awkward, but rather drawn back and relaxed. Their gait is the smooth, leisurely pace of an athlete who has no timeline to adhere to. They seem completely at ease with her and this situation, and also completely uninterested in any sort of discussion. They always smile when they see her, and whenever she asks to meet up they say yes, without fail, so it can’t be that bad.

Right?

Her glance has become something of a stare, and of course Ruby’s noticed. She doesn’t know what to expect when she’s caught, but warm relief oozes down her arms when Ruby smiles at her. It’s a gentle upturn of delightfully soft-looking lips, and it definitely reaches their eyes, but they don’t say anything. It doesn’t even look like they want to.

Sapphire tries to return the smile, she does, but she soon has to gaze back out at the blinding expanse of fresh powder. Is she doing something wrong? Maybe she’s just uninteresting. If she’s being brutally honest, she can’t imagine a vibrantly creative breakdancer seeing much novelty in something as classic as ballet—or, by extension, people like Sapphire, who enjoy it above all else.

That’s about the moment she takes a snowball to the back of the head. Sapphire lets out a startled cry as crumbles of frozen water tumble through her long hair and slip behind the collar of her jacket. She hadn’t even realized Ruby stopped walking, let alone stooped down to pack a snowball together and lob it at her.

 _“Ruby!”_ Whipping around, shedding bits of shattered snow, Sapphire is confronted by a Ruby whose warm brown eyes are glinting with mischief. Their shoulders are shaking in poorly suppressed giggles, and they already have another snowball ready.

“Ruby, that went down my shirt!”

Ruby, laughing even harder at her indignation, chooses this moment to send the second snowball flying at her chest.

Sapphire scarcely ducks out of the way in time, but by the time the chilly projectile breaks apart on the snowy sidewalk she has already decided _this is war_.

It is, Sapphire must say, incredibly satisfying to hear Ruby’s squawk of surprise at the fistful of snow she jams down the collar of their jacket. She gets a good laugh out of the way they twist and shimmy, trying to shake it all out. By the time Ruby manages to collect themself, Sapphire is crouched down behind the skeleton of a dormant hickory tree with a pile of pre-made snowballs.

“Take that!” calls Sapphire as she darts out from behind the hickory with an armful of hastily constructed ammo. She pelts the taller dancer with them as she makes a mad dash for the next tree a couple dozen feet away.

Sapphire doesn’t remember the last time she got in a snowball fight, honestly. By the time she and Ruby have scraped all of the snow from sidewalks and front yards in a half-block radius, Sapphire’s gloved fingers have gone numb and she is sweaty and panting within the confines of her winter coat. Her hair sways in disorganized slivers of yellow in front of her eyes, and her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s grinning. She can’t remember ever laughing this much.

Ruby pitches into her side and loops their arms around her waist. Sapphire half expects the sharp sting of snow trickling down her neck again, or—if they’re feeling particularly vindictive—down the seat of her pants, but no such attack comes. It’s just a hug—and that’s good, because she’s too out of breath to fight back right now. Sapphire sags back against Ruby and layers her arms over theirs, holding them around her.

It would probably make sense if she found being embraced while she was still so overheated in her coat uncomfortable, but she doesn’t. This is warm, but it isn’t bad. In fact, it’s really, really nice. Sapphire enjoys the way it feels to have Ruby’s arms around her.

The skin of Ruby’s forehead is hot as it presses into her temple, and their breath is coming out in short little huffs, but Sapphire’s heart stutters when the softness of their lips brushes against her cheek. It’s not a kiss, but if they pressed any harder it would be.

Sapphire turns her head, but the moment is already over. Ruby’s let her go and made a gesture in the general direction of the dance studio. Their face is still a little flushed from exertion, and their curls are poofier now than they were before. Their smile is companionable, though.

“Yeah, I guess we’re late now,” Sapphire says, brushing hair back from her face. “You don’t think the others will notice, do you?”

Honestly, she’s not expecting an answer. She’s just projecting her own voice into the silence between them. Sapphire is usually the quiet one in groups and pairs, and she really doesn’t how to handle the fact that Ruby has usurped the role she’s most comfortable playing. Sapphire doesn’t think she’s the kind of person who can come up with interesting things to talk about. At least, not on the fly like this.

Things are okay when she and Ruby are moving and doing things together, be it dancing or snowball fights—hell, things are _fantastic_ then—but it’s these in between moments that make her wonder if this is even going to work. Something has to change, because Sapphire doesn’t think she can handle this level of awkward wordlessness all the time.

In response to her question, Ruby only shrugs. They’ve started walking again, seemingly impervious to her social floundering. Sapphire catches up and falls into step with them easily, and just like that, everything is back to normal. It’s like the snowball fight never happened.

Well, no, that’s not entirely true. Sapphire is more comfortable now than she was before; laughing with someone will do that to you. She also can’t stop thinking about that embrace, feeling the echo of Ruby’s lips like a brand. She and Ruby are attracted each other—ever since the dance fusion Sapphire initiated a couple of weeks ago, that’s been pretty obvious—and while reciprocity is great, she’s starting to wonder if that’s really enough.

This time when she glances over, she finds that Ruby’s already looking at her.

“Need to talk?”

For the first time, Sapphire notices something. Ruby’s voice—the same voice they’ve always had, feminine but sort of rough around the edges—suddenly doesn’t seem quite as _organic_ as the squawk she inspired earlier. There is no roughness in their laughter, either, come to think of it. She always thought it was just an incidental quirk.

Sapphire wonders, and her musings completely dismiss the somewhat embittered laugh that nearly pushes its way out of her mouth. “Not this time,” she says.

When Sapphire reaches across the space between them, she stops halfway, fingers twitching. Unsure. She’s not making any sense anymore; these mood swings are probably really off-putting.

It’s hard to describe how heartening it is to have Ruby grab onto her fingers. Perhaps it doesn’t mean much, really, but that isn’t what it feels like.

Sapphire smiles and holds on, feeling herself warm for a whole new reason. When she walks a little closer, so that their arms bump with every step, she feels a playful elbow nudge back at her.

The rest of the walk to the dance studio is still wordless. There’s still no birdsong, still a lot of snow crunching under their shoes, still the hiss of tires on the pavement as cars roll through the neighborhood. But it’s Christmas Eve, and even though it’s three in the afternoon houses have illuminated their decorative lights early. They look nice. Festive. Instead of feeling mocked by their jolly façades, as she would have earlier, Sapphire finds herself grinning softly, enjoying them.

She can hear Jingle Bell Rock drifting from the windows of the dance studio from half a block away. Someone is really taking advantage of the sophisticated surround-sound speakers, it seems—but hey, that’s what the equipment’s for, right?

It’s not entirely fair to say that the neighborhood dance studio is just that. The folks who use it most have turned it into a social hub—a community center, if you will. There are always potluck-style events on major holidays, and while anyone is welcome it’s typically the same dance cliques. Occasionally a friend or two from the general community will join them, but usually it’s just an excuse for the various groups to mingle for once. Sapphire is pretty sure she first spoke with Ruby at one of these get-togethers, actually. They’ve co-existed in the dancing community here for years now, so it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when that happened, but statistically this feels more likely.

Right next to the double door entrance to the studio is a large plastic Christmas tree, its artificial greenery waxy against the generic multi-colored colored baubles hanging from it. There are three long plastic tables covered in holiday themed tablecloths by the west facing window of the studio. There seems to be a table dedicated to the main course, sides and dessert in turn, and they are all more or less equally crowded. Garland and tinsel dangle from the walls and ceiling and the wall of mirrored panels like streamers. Everyone seems to have either a seasonal-themed sweater or hat on.

She and Ruby let go of each other’s hands to shrug off their coats and gloves. Sapphire has decided to showcase her spirit of the season with a pair of nice skinny jeans, a green blouse with some small red accessories, but when she sees Ruby’s tight, wine-red tank top speckled in little white, glittery snowflakes she has to wonder if they enjoy Christmas a little more than she does. Of course, the top has been matched with a pair of well-loved jeans that probably came from the men’s section, and the latter are baggy and only staying on Ruby’s lean hips through the grace of the belt they thought to wear, but the holiday sentiment remains for all of that.

Out of respect for the smoothly polished floorboards, there is a pile of shoes under the coats by the entrance. If the odd individual insists on wearing shoes beyond that, they are soft soled and unlikely to scuff. Ruby and Sapphire join the majority in removing their shoes entirely, a pretty set of gently heeled leather shoes and large, clunky boots resting next to each other at the edge of the crowd of footwear.

There is a large empty space at the other end of the studio for anyone who feels like dancing. Naturally, several people are taking advantage of that. There is no such thing as an empty dance floor in this community.

A group of faces that Sapphire recognizes has stationed themselves over by the sound system. Currently, they are hosting a lively discussion over which song or playlist should be queued next. From inside the studio the music is louder, but not so loud that you can’t have a conversation over it.

Sapphire glances at the breakdancer standing with her, at their bared shoulders and closed mouth. She supposes that that’s… not exactly a problem in this case regardless.

“Ruby!”

Ruby doesn’t need any more invitation than that to finish hanging up their coat and gloves and make a beeline to the woman who has called their name from where she and the others are debating music choices. She is petite, with large keen eyes like a cat and a somewhat sardonic angle to her lips, like she thinks herself above all of this campy holiday celebration. Though she is unmistakably part of Ruby’s usual group of friends, she doesn’t look like the type who would enjoy hip hop at all, much less dance to it. The aura she exudes isn’t what causes the confusion—because, truth be told, she radiates the sort of attitude that suits the sharp rhythms and general defiance of hip hop quite well—but rather her personal sense of style.

The fact she’s wearing a hijab isn’t the strange part—it’s actually a very pretty piece, a Parisian swirl of apple greens and lustrous golds—it’s the fact that she herself is here at the Christmas party. Isn’t this a contradiction of faith and spirituality? Doesn’t she feel uncomfortable?

If Ruby notices any of this, then they give zero indication of it as they take the cell phone their tiny friend proffers. Sapphire doesn’t join Ruby over by the sound system—those aren’t her friends, after all; a two-person fraction of own her clique is over by the decorated plastic tree, and they’re currently waving at her.

She approaches amiably, briefly embracing each and remarking afterwards, “Pearl, I’d know your handiwork anywhere. How early did you come in to help decorate this place?”

Pearl, a tall and slender slip of a woman, all graceful gestures and smooth lines, flushes slightly. “Only an hour or so, but Rose said she didn’t have anyone else helping, and it wasn’t fair to make her do it alone!”

Rose can be said to be the manager of the dance studio. She’s in charge of the schedule of rehearsals and performances, and making sure enough money is raised at the community fundraisers to pay for rent and utilities on the building. She is a large, charismatic woman in her mid-forties with a big smile and even bigger hair, and though she doesn’t dance herself (though rumor has it she was well-versed in all styles as a teenager, and even spent some time on Broadway), she has an excellent eye for it. Rose is well-liked by everyone she meets—the perfect envoy for the dance community, particularly where funding is required—but she is _especially_ adored by Pearl. Sapphire can’t tell if it’s a straight out crush or simply admiration for Rose’s skills as an organizer.

There again, Sapphire thinks as she studies the pink staining Pearl’s pale cheeks, who’s to say the two are mutually exclusive?

From the corner of her eye, Sapphire notices Ruby scroll a bit through what she can only assume is a music playlist. Their hijab-wearing friend gestures and speaks with obvious vehemence, but she isn’t using English. In fact, it sounds very much like she’s speaking in rapidfire _French_. Ruby nods in the calm way that only someone who understands can, and hands the phone over with a wordless gesture of suggestion. In fact, elements of their gesture look very much like they were drawn from American Sign Language.

So Ruby knows other languages?

“Oh, sure, Rose was all alone, and being alone with her was such a _tragedy,”_ says Lapis with a teasing roll of her eyes. Ballerinas aren’t encouraged to dye their hair wild colors as a general rule of thumb—their bodies should be what communicate the story told through their dance, not their personal bodily statements—but Sapphire has honestly never seen Lapis’ natural hair color. Besides, it’s such a deep shade of blue that it looks black in most lights, and it’s not like she has any tattoos or unorthodox piercings to distract from her otherwise beautiful dancing. Lapis moves like water; there is no other way to describe it. Every new technique they ever learn always just seems to _flow_ from her as if she’s been practicing it for years. Whereas Pearl’s style is graceful and arcing, and Sapphire’s style is crisp and carefully controlled, Lapis has a way of making even the most tightly choreographed ballet look like freestyle, as if she’s just—making it up as she goes along.

“What?” says Pearl, indignant and flushing redder than before. “It’s true!”

Sapphire watches Ruby glance at an extremely tall, powerful looking man with a lighter complexion then their own and a somewhat faraway expression, and the woman with the hijab speaks again. This time it is in halting, broken English. The man doesn’t turn his gaze to either of them. In fact, his attention seemed completely focused on some far-off object on the upper right corner of the roof as he replies—his English is slow, but not broken as much as thoughtful. Ruby nods anyway, and while she sees their lips move it’s only briefly, as if they are humming in affirmation. It seems to be enough for their unfocused friend, and he smiles and nods back, though his gaze is still fixedly elsewhere.

What does it say about Sapphire that she didn’t even know that Ruby’s friends weren’t native English speakers? Honestly, does she know _anything_ about them?

That’s about the moment that Ruby catches her eye. They smile, and Sapphire feels utterly stricken. It’s not that the smile isn’t nice—it’s a gentle, soft-lipped kind of smile that Sapphire can only wish she were daring enough to take advantage of—but rather the notion that she’s been caught spying on them, sticking her nose where it shouldn’t be. If Ruby wanted her to know these bits of their life, they would have told her about it. The fact that they haven’t must mean they aren’t interested in her knowing, their handful of dates notwithstanding, and Sapphire should respect that.

She can’t seem to, though, obviously.

Nevertheless, she tries to smile back like a part of her isn’t jealous of Ruby’s friends for obviously knowing them better than her, despite the language barrier.

“Speaking of being alone together,” Lapis says conversationally, and Sapphire’s attention snaps back to the two friends she herself is supposed to be visiting with. Her friend gestures to the group by the sound system. “Noticed you came in holding hands with that breakdancer over there, Sapphire, and you both seemed pretty hot and sweaty.”

Sapphire doesn’t know whether she chokes on a laugh or her own spit, but something catches in her throat and she starts coughing anyway. “We had a snowball fight,” she says bluntly, after finally managing to reestablish control over her airway.

Lapis raises her eyebrows, clearly questioning this, but instead of pressing the issue she simply says, “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to grab some food.”

Sapphire shrugs, and figures might as well—it’s not like she has much of an agenda for this holiday party other than ‘show up and have fun’, and the food all looks great besides.

Out of idle curiosity, Sapphire glances at the ceiling. It would be cheesy as hell, but it’s classic enough that Pearl might have felt the need to hang mistletoe while decorating anyway, just to give everyone The Real Christmas Experience. Pearl is quite adamant about things being authentic and true to form.

As a matter of fact, there is mistletoe in two places. Well. Sapphire doesn’t imagine she’ll be taking advantage of them any time soon, but perhaps knowing will help her avoid any uncomfortable situations.

It isn’t until she’s piled a paper plate with various samplings from all three food tables and set it down on an otherwise unoccupied table for herself and the much pickier Lapis and Pearl (who are still hemming and hawing over the selection of main dishes, much less sides and desserts) that Sapphire feels someone poke her in the sides. She startles and lets out an _eep!_ , especially since she’s ticklish, but when she twists around it’s none other than Ruby. They have apparently left their friends to their own devices in favor of sneaking up on her.

Honestly, after the surprise snowball fight earlier today Sapphire feels like she should have been able to guess this would happen. She had assumed she was safe because Ruby’s friends are here and they’re both surrounded by other dancing factions that are decidedly not associating with each one another. Nobody in the immediate vicinity seems to have noticed this small instance of cross-pollination, though—or, if they have, then they don’t care enough to stare or remark upon it.

There again, isn’t that what these holiday parties are supposed to be for, mingling with the rest of the community?

Sapphire notices that Ruby’s hands are both up, fingers waggling, and there is an impish grin on their face. She immediately holds up her own in defense.

“Oh no,” she says warningly. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you even _think_ about— **Ruby!”**

Unfortunately for Sapphire, Ruby has the reflexes of a rattlesnake, and they evade her defensive flailing quite easily. How they managed to figure out she her sides were this ticklish, Sapphire will never know, but they only stop when she’s squealed loudly, nearly in tears from all of the tickle-induced laughter. She slumps when the assault finally ceases, gripping Ruby’s sides over their glittery tank top and smearing her face across the crook of their shoulder—and she has to admit, she stays there catching her breath a little longer than strictly necessary. If Ruby minds this at all, then they give no indication of it. They are, however, making an obviously half-assed effort not to snort too obnoxiously at her expense.

She swears she feels something soft brush over her temple, but by the time she’s opened her eyes and checked it is long gone, if it ever existed at all.

Sapphire wishes she could muster the energy to make her glare more convincing as she finally steps away and collapses into the plastic chair next to her plate of nearly-forgotten food. Unfortunately, however, she’s too pleased that Ruby’s paying attention to her despite the fact this is a community dance event and they’re both from radically different cliques.

Ruby, for their part, looks immensely amused and satisfied with their good work as they drop wordlessly into the chair catty corner to hers and prop their chin up on their hand. Perhaps it’s just coincidence, or perhaps they meant to do it, but their bare feet bump into hers under the table anyway. While nothing has been formally articulated on Ruby’s end, much less a “Is this seat taken?” it seems rather obvious to Sapphire that they intend to hang out for a little while. Her friends can sit somewhere else if they don’t approve.

 _Or_ , a part of her murmurs, _they don’t want to interrupt_.

“So what did your friends need you for earlier?” she asks conversationally.

Ruby shrugs and waves the subject off. They’re not trying to be evasive, she can tell—they’re still smiling in triumph over successfully ambushing her, actually—they simply don’t see the need to divulge the story.

Sapphire’s good mood falters, hard. Right. Ruby doesn’t _do_ conversation.

What else is she supposed to do, though?

“Did you notice the mistletoe?” she blurts out with a gesture to the ceiling. “That was probably my friend Pearl’s fault—she helped decorate—but it’s 2015. Who actually follows that rule anymore, right?” She tries to laugh it off, tries to feel contented with essentially talking to herself, but she starts to flounder when Ruby glances up and then looks to her like they’re expecting some kind of profound punchline.

“Erm.” She doesn’t know what to do. Why is she so freaking bad at this? “Your friend, with the…” Sapphire gestures about her head in vague reference to the green and gold hijab, just in case she had been wrong in her identification of it.

“Peridot.” Ruby reaches over and nabbing a tortilla chip from her plate. They dunk it into the medium salsa verde she had glopped next to the chips and chew placidly as they wait for Sapphire to continue.

“Is she… French?”

Ruby nods with a small vocalization of confirmation. They steal another chip.

“Studying abroad?”

Another nod. This time it’s accompanied by a mildly puzzled expression. Ruby doesn’t appear offended that she’s asking about their friend, but rather curious to know where all of these questions will ultimately lead.

“Do _you_ , uh, speak French at all?”

Ruby shakes their head and offers a dismissive wave of their hand, shaggy dark curls swaying about their cheeks. While they don’t speak—Sapphire would know if they as much as whisper, she’s been watching their mouth so studiously—she gets the strong impression that, if they were going to, it would be something along the lines of, “Eh. Why would I need to?”

This is awkward. This is so awkward. How is this even considered a ‘conversation’ anyway? This isn’t a conversation, it’s an interrogation. Ruby seemed completely unbothered by this dynamic, but Sapphire feels discomfited and rude. Is this the only way to learn about Ruby and their life? Is this a sign that she should just—stop prying?

Sapphire wants to get to know Ruby better, she does. There’s a reason she went out of her way to approach them a few weeks ago. She just doesn’t know that she sees herself settling comfortably into the role of The Talkative one.

“And your other friend, he’s… I mean, he’s blind, right?” she says.

Ruby blinks equably. “Ahmed? Mm-hm.”

But what else is she supposed to do, just sit here in silence, shuffling her feet like an idiot?

“Is he… also studying abroad?”

With another nod, Ruby steals one of her grapes. Sapphire has to forcibly tear her gaze away from the way the muscles in their bared forearm ripple from the movement, how the rich curve of their lips wrap around the little purple globe.

 “Does _he_ speak English at all?”

Ruby offers a little grunt and makes a so-so gesture. They truly don’t seem bothered by these semantics, though—at least, not if the way they relieve her plate of one of its taquitos is indicative of anything.

Things have got to get better than this. She really likes Ruby, and she’s trying. They just have to throw her a bone.

“It doesn’t bother you at all, not knowing what any of your friends are saying to you when they talk? How do you communicate?”

Ruby shrugs, chewing their stolen taquito. Finally they swallow and tell her simply, “Body language is universal.”

They make it sound so _easy_ , but that can’t really be it, right? They’re just really good at reading body language—so good, in fact, that something as monumental as a language barrier is rendered completely and utterly moot? That conversation itself is completely unnecessary to them?

Above their heads, a more upbeat holiday song begins to play on the surround sound speakers.

_Rocking around the Christmas tree_

_At the Christmas party hop_

Apropos of nothing, Ruby snorts in laughter. With a small shake of their head, they set the half-eaten taquito aside and wipe their hands on their pants as they hop lightly to their feet.

Sapphire is baffled when Ruby offers her their hand, broad palm facing up and strong fingers slightly curled. They still haven’t taken off their tomato-red, knitted headband, and its hue clashes magnificently with that of their snowflaked tank top. Their smile is entreating, asking her to play along.

_Rocking around the Christmas tree_

_Have a happy holiday_

“What about this song is so…?” she starts to ask, but that’s about the time she realizes _she doesn’t care_. Ruby’s lips are turned up and the corners of their eyes are crinkled in wordless mirth; their shirt hugs their form just right, and while its collar is conservative the angle of their collarbone and the strength in their shoulders are on delightful display. They are inviting her to dance with them to a cheesy-ass holiday jingle, and Sapphire wants to do it. Dancing with Ruby is fun, and exhilarating, and it feels _right_. It’s one of the few things she knows she can’t screw up.

She grasps the warmth of Ruby’s fingers and allows them to haul her to her feet. They don’t let her hand go once she’s stood; instead they pull at her arm, urging her towards the expanse of polished floorboards where so many other bare footed folks are dancing. The tugs are vaguely questioning— _you don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to_ —but when Sapphire grins and moves faster, uses their interconnected fingers to twirl _them_ into position on the dance floor, all of Ruby’s hesitation melts into a broad grin and laughing chocolate eyes framed in the prettiest lashes Sapphire’s ever seen.

_Everyone's dancing merrily_

_In a new old-fashioned way_

Tinsel glints in the multicolored strings of lights hung around the studio like so many winking stars, laughter and conversation intermingle with the lyrics of the jazzy pop song, and Sapphire’s heart thumps as she spins the other dancer until Ruby’s standing with their back to her chest and their arms crossed, Sapphire holding onto both of their hands.

Sapphire laughs when doing this gives her a face full of bouncy curls, because Ruby’s about two inches taller than her and that’s just how everything lines up. She snorts their hair out of the way, chortles some more, and lets go.

Much like the first time they danced together, Ruby and Sapphire don’t stick to any one genre or style. They just _move_. Sometimes they’re giggling over the goofy ankle-swinging abandon of the charleston, and other times Sapphire is being hefted off the ground and swung crisply upside down and sideways by strong, capable arms. Ruby never moves her too far or too hard; they always stay smack dab in the middle of her comfort zone.

It doesn’t matter to either of them if the sequence doesn’t make sense, or if it looks like a choreographer’s worst nightmare—after a few songs have gone by, all Sapphire knows are brown cheeks flushed with exertion and toned arms and a clear, feminine laugh that’s devoid of all its usual roughness. Her jaw is hurting again from grinning so hard, and every corner of her being is full of movement and warmth. She isn’t talking with Ruby because conversation isn’t needed.

She’s never felt a connection like this with a dance partner before.

_I don’t want a lot for Christmas_

_There is just one thing I need_

It’s not really a slow song, all truth told, but they slow down anyway. Though both of them are sweaty and radiating heat, Ruby’s fingers curl over her hips. Sapphire doesn’t hesitate to touch their waist and sway deeper into their touch. They smile knowingly, and Sapphire has fallen so hard that she doesn’t care how greedy this probably looks. By the time the final chorus plays Sapphire’s breathing has slowed and her smile has gentled. She’s lost, but she really doesn’t mind.

_And I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree_

Sapphire is a dancer by trade. She tells stories with her body all the time. She knows actions can speak louder than words, but she’s never applied it to her own personal life. She’s never been asked to before, so how could she know whether or not it would suit her?

_I just want you for my own_

_More than you could ever know_

She’s really not sure this is going to work in the long run—not convinced of her own abilities to adapt over the long term, even if things feel good when they’re moving together—but she likes Ruby too much not to give it her best shot.

_Make my wish come true_

_Baby, all I want for Christmas is you_

She’s still not expecting Ruby’s fingers to hook deftly into the belt loops of her jeans during the song’s fadeout. They tug her in until her torso bumps gently into theirs, and they lean down those extra two inches.

It’s a little peck that scarcely lasts more than a couple of seconds, but it’s soft, and it’s sweet, and it leaves Sapphire’s breathless because Ruby’s never kissed her before. Their lips are a little chapped from the recent cold weather, perhaps, but they are nonetheless plush and giving.

It is, she thinks, a good metaphor for Ruby in general.

That’s about the time Sapphire notices the mistletoe dangling above her head. The last time she checked, their dancing selves had not been anywhere close to either of the two mistletoe locations, but that is clearly not so anymore.

This was not done by accident, Sapphire concludes as her gaze flicks back to Ruby.

“You _planned_ this.” It’s not a question.

Ruby’s eyebrows had shot up their forehead initially, lips twitching as they struggle to keep a straight face, but upon hearing what she has to say they laugh aloud. If they thought she was painfully awkward at any point, or that she was doing something wrong, or even that she was too boring, then they don’t seem to think so anymore.

“Wait—was this _my_ fault, because I pointed the mistletoe out to begin with?”

Ruby grins, but it’s impossible for Sapphire to tell whether or not they had been planning this from the beginning or if she had inspired it somewhere along the way.

Either way, one thing is clear: Ruby _had_ planned this, at least in some part. They don’t like talking, but they do like Sapphire, and they’ve shown her that in so many ways today. When they noticed her becoming melancholy, they found a way to make her laugh more than she had in weeks. They sought her out for no particular reason other than they wanted her company. They went out of their way to make their first kiss with her something to remember.

The way they’re touching her now, fingers still twined through her belt loops, holding her close, smiling, the chocolate of their eyes molten and sweet. Sapphire can’t question these blatant and tangible actions, this observable and undeniable proof of Ruby’s point of view, and it helps.

After all, body language is universal. That’s what makes dance so potent, right?

Sapphire doesn’t really know how this is going to work in the long run. She doesn’t know how to function in a relationship without proper conversation, and she’s not sure she’s really learned all too much about how to sidestep that today, either. But she did learn some things: Ruby isn’t slow to trust, and they don’t think she’s boring; in fact, they want to be here as much as she does.

Sapphire likes Ruby a lot, and she’s trying—and Ruby likes her a lot, and they’re trying. Maybe, if they can find a way to meet each other halfway, then all of that trying won’t be in vain.


End file.
